Cliff

  “There is a woman who lives close to me in Hilfen, in a house upon the crest of the ravine in which the body of the Stonefather lay ever-watchful, his mammoth corpse mined for bones day and night. She has the most beautiful chestnut hair, and hazel eyes. I hadn’t truly noticed her before today, as I walked by the farmer’s market on the end of Bridgelam Row. She was staring at me from behind a collection of watermelons, stealing glances whenever she was certain I wasn’t looking.

  I caught her the second time. She was at once bashful and ashamed, and so I moved to assuage her fears, as it had not been my intention to upset her. She told me her name was Sarah, and that she had been wanting to speak with me for months, yet had failed at mustering up the courage to do so at every turn.

  I told her she was most welcome to my attention at any time, to which she responded with perhaps the single most brilliant smile I have ever laid eyes on. I have not been able to get her out of my thoughts since. I thought I was too old for such dalliances, but perhaps I must reconsider that particular belief.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2148 Post-Separation (PS).

  The world was a mess of color as Cliff came down from the heights of his climax, the aftershocks sending waves of pleasure rippling through his body. There was room for naught else in his mind as he felt the warmth of her press against him, and the sound of her choked breathing in his ear.

  He could not say how long he had lasted. The alcohol made such calculations hazy and inaccurate, but he was rather certain he remembered it being brighter outside than it was now. Nighttime proper had descended upon Carthal at some point during their union, casting the world beyond his grimy bedroom windows into utter darkness, held at bay by flickering candlelight and wooden walls.

  Beneath him, strawberry-blonde hair lay splayed out across the mattress, bedecked by green eyes glinting with contentment. A sultry breath leaked from parted lips, ghosting across his skin, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. Her body burned hot at his touch, like a furnace birthed from passion.

  “That was… a delightful distraction,” Catherine sighed, nuzzling her face into his chest. “And a long overdue one, at that.”

  “You’re telling me,” Cliff grunted as he removed himself from within her, a small fraction of his release leaking out onto the bedsheets. “It’s only been a week, but it feels like longer.”

  “Was it good for you?” she asked, followed closely by a humorous giggle. “Oh, what am I saying? Of course it was. I’m me.”

  “Arrogant woman,” he scoffed, sliding onto his side next to her. “You already know the answer to that.”

  “True. I just want to hear you say it,” she winked, pressing a kiss to his lips. It tasted of sweat and fornication.

  “Then I will. You were amazing, Catherine.”

  “I know,” she smiled. “So were you.”

  “I know,” he grinned, earning himself a light jab in the shoulder.

  “Idiot,” she smirked, before pushing herself up from the mattress. The position gave Cliff a clear view of her body - her alabaster skin, slender figure, and shapely breasts - and he felt a slight swelling in his lower body, despite the fact that they had just made love. That he was even allowed to witness her like this… it was enough to send his heart racing beneath his ribs.

  “Hm? What’s this?” she said as she caught him staring. “Are you getting aroused again, looking at my body?”

  “Guilty as charged,” Cliff shrugged, seeing no reason to deny it. “Any man would.”

  “Well… I suppose there is still time…” she started, her smile giving way to something much more primal. “Though, there’s always tomorrow.”

  “… Yeah, about that,” he grimaced.

  “What?”

  “Varus wants me to head for Galwen first thing in the morning.”

  There was a long silence in the wake of his statement, punctuated only by the furrowing of her eyebrows.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked, the tone of her voice no longer playful.

  “I didn’t want to ruin our evening,” he said.

  “You wanted to fuck.”

  “That too. But mostly, I wanted the evening,” he continued, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. “We don’t get enough time together as is. Feels like it’s been nothing but work and travel since the winter season.”

  “I know,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Which is why I appreciate it when you share your schedule with me, so that I can make certain to take time off from my duties whenever you’re in town.”

  “I already do,” he said. “And besides, I only got the assignment when I was meeting with Varus just now. I was going to tell you, but… well, we were having such a good time.”

  “That’s cheating,” she pouted. “You knew it would lower your chances of getting lucky if you did.”

  “… The thought may have crossed my mind,” he smiled.

  “Again, idiot.” She shook her head, though he could tell her mood was already improving. “Next time, tell me straight away. I’ll still fuck you, don’t worry about it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, shifting to look at her once more.

  “For now, though…” she started, leaning back to give him an unobstructed view of her body. “I want you to come over here and show me some more of that legendary swordsmanship."

  He felt a surge of desire flood his veins at the sight of her.

  “Your wish is my command,” he grinned, moving close to worship every inch of her for as long as she would allow him to.

  /-0-\

  Cliff had lived an extraordinary life. There was no denying this. He had risen from the squalor of a miserable childhood to study under one of the most renowned swordsmen in Alwaarian history. He had spent years perfecting his craft, foregoing every other aspect of his life to focus solely on the art of the blade. He had looked death in the face more times than he could hope to recall, and emerged victorious at every turn. He had slain beasts, traveled in the company of legends, befriended a mythical creature and drank from the waters of That-Which-Dwells-Below.

  He had also loved, and lost, and loved again. He had attended the Gluttonous King’s Summer Feast, and escaped with his mind and body intact. He had used his fame and notoriety to sleep with dozens of women, and been used by them in turn. He had experienced what it was like to be on the receiving end of a woman twice scorned, and how tragic it could be when a budding relationship was brought to a swift and unsatisfying conclusion.

  Yet, all of that… noise… faded to mere obscurity when he was with Catherine. The shadows of his past grew slim and placid, the ceaseless churning of his mind brought to a standstill. With her, it was easy. Always easy. There was no shouting, no crying, no biting accusations nor nights spent at opposite sides of the house.

  She simply… understood him, in a way few others ever had. She knew what to say, when to say it, and how to phrase it. What he liked, what he did not like, and what he detested. What to talk about, and what to never mention, under any circumstance.

  In turn, Cliff tried his best to be the man she needed him to be. To respect her autonomy and independence. To treat her like an equal in all things, even the mundane. To trust that she would never betray him, no matter the incentives or persuasions offered by an outstanding party.

  He was still struggling with that last part. It was in his nature to second-guess the motives of those around him, to always remain vigilant of a stab from the dark. To never believe in the words and promises of another without adequate confirmation or guarantee that they spoke the truth, and nothing but the truth.

  But for Catherine… he was willing to make an effort. Willing to do that which must be done in order to change his own mentality. It was not a straightforward or painless undertaking, but it was one he had committed to, with the whole of his being.

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  And it was with such thoughts occupying his mind that he watched her now, sitting opposite him at the table, engaged in pleasant chatter with a serving girl. Despite the early morning hour, the Lunar Jewel had its fair share of customers already, most of whom were dressed in aureate clothing indicating they belonged to the upper class. Which was perhaps not very surprising, given the exclusive, not to mention expensive, nature of the establishment.

  A collection of cast-iron tables sat scattered upon a heightened plateau, giving the customers a magnificent view of the lake as they indulged in all manner of culinary treats. The restaurant itself was a magnificent construction of pale ash wood and towering windows, its interior tastefully decorated with grand rugs, various paintings and wine racks, containing liquor that was likely older than Cliff himself.

  He would never forget the first time he had come here. The sky had been beautiful that day. So beautiful, in fact, he had momentarily found himself in a trance, unwilling to so much as blink, lest he risk having the view disappear on him forever. Now, that same sky was bathed with the pale yellow of sunrise, tinting the clouds in a bright hue.

  “So.. what has you acting all sentimental then?” Catherine said, dragging his attention back to the present. Grass-colored eyes swiveled to meet his, framed by stray locks of hair peeking out from underneath a white knit-hat.

  “Nothing much,” he shrugged, lifting a cup to his lips and taking a sip from the hot coffee within. “Just admiring the view.”

  “You were staring at me.”

  “Precisely.”

  A light giggle sounded in response.

  “You’re such a flirt,” she said. “Are you perhaps trying to curry favor with me, now that you are leaving once again?”

  “You know it’s not up to me,” he sighed. “I’m duty-bound here.”

  “Yes, yes,” she waved. “I know. And besides, the timing isn’t awful. I have a matter that needs tending to as well, one that will take me outside the city. So I will be gone for a while starting tomorrow.”

  “What?” Cliff blinked. “That’s not… Wait, you’re leaving tomorrow, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

  “What can I say?” she grinned. “We were having such a good time. I didn’t want to ruin our evening.”

  “Oh, you little-” he started, though the ire was quickly replaced by humor. “You’re a right piece of work, you know that?”

  “Of course,” she smiled. “’Tis why you love me, no?”

  “Well, when you put it like that…” he said, with a great heave of his shoulders. “Where are you even going?”

  “To a village near the northern front,” she said, fingering the rim of her coffee cup. “We’ve had reports of strange activity occurring in the area. Our man from the Intelligence Office who we sent out for preliminary investigation came back all wide-eyed and withdrawn. Spoke of corpses brought back to life by foul sorcery.”

  “What?” Cliff frowned. Necromancy was not a common practice these days. He could scarce remember the last time he had been sent out to deal with a corpse-riser.

  “Apparently, when the village fell on tough times due to war and pillaging, the citizens turned to witchcraft to revive their dead,” Catherine continued. “How they acquired the knowledge necessary to do so, however, remains a mystery. There’s been speculation of Wielder involvement, but that’s mostly hearsay for now.”

  “Why would they do that?” Cliff said, furrowing his brows. “Revive their dead?”

  “Why?" Catherine blinked. "Well, outside of the obvious reasons like longing and grief, it’s likely because the undead turned out to be leagues and bounds more useful to them than live humans.”

  "More… useful?"

  "Yes. As opposed to a normal person, an undead does not need to eat, sleep or drink. It does not get tired, nor does it complain. It can work for days without rest, and will not contract illnesses or other types of sickness that will render it bedridden," Catherine explained. "Think on it. An undead is, in essence, the ultimate slave; a creature inextricably bound to its masters' will until it is either destroyed, or otherwise disposed of.”

  Cliff’s frown deepened as he considered the practical applications of such a being. He had to admit, he had never thought of using the undead in such a way before. In truth, the possibilities did seem rather boundless… And certainly more than a little appealing, especially to the citizens of a village on the brink of ruin.

  "So, what… they have undead working for them?"

  “Seems like it,” Catherine confirmed. "And not just for traditional tasks like guard duty, either. They use them for everything – collection of water, hunting, carrying and transportation of heavy goods… In a way, a large chunk of their entire infrastructure revolves around them now.”

  "That’s…” Cliff started, only to find that he lacked the words to properly describe it. A word like amazing did not feel entirely appropriate, given the admittedly heinous acts involved, which in turn also ruled out the word ingenious. Perhaps clever could work?

  “Either way, it cannot be allowed to continue,” Catherine stated with finality. “The dead should be allowed their rest, no matter the plight of the living.”

  Cliff nodded his assent, though his mind yet lingered on the possibilities.

  “So, what about you?” she asked after a moment of silence. “What are you supposed to do in Galwen?”

  “Oh. Varus wants me to meet with this lumberjack, who claims to have seen golden orbs floating off towards the Grimseid Depths,” Cliff sighed. “Meaning I am to be the perpetrator of yet another meaningless hunt for Marlene.”

  “Ahh… He should face reality at this point,” Catherine said, shaking her head. “Marlene is gone.”

  “If only he would listen to reason,” Cliff said. “But the heart wants what it wants, I suppose.”

  “That it does,” she agreed.

  A serene silence settled in the wake of their conversation. Their time together was running out, and they knew it. Cliff, for one, was intent on savoring the moment for as long as it lasted.

  “What did Godfrey want with you again?” Catherine asked, having seemingly remembered their little run-in with Alexander the day prior.

  “Nothing much. Just a reminder that I still owe him,” Cliff said. “As if I could ever forget.”

  “How much was it again?”

  "Just shy of a thousand greater yldings.”

  “You could borrow the money from me, you know. Stonefather knows I have enough.”

  “Hah. Not likely,” Cliff scoffed. “I’ll earn it myself.”

  “Your funeral,” she shrugged. The silence stretched on for a little longer, until Cliff gave a mighty sigh from the bottom of his chest.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “I know,” she replied. “I was just dragging out the moment for as long as I could.”

  “So was I.”

  A deep hesitation burned in the pit of his stomach. There was nothing in this world he wanted less than to leave this table.

  “Will you be here when I get back?” he asked instead.

  “That depends on when you get back,” she said with a smile. “But rest assured that I don’t intend on a long journey. I dislike being near active war zones.”

  “Well, they aren’t a favorite of mine either,” he said. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful, so I can rest easy at night.”

  “What a pointless request. You already know I won’t,” she winked.

  “Ah. Well, it was worth a try.”

  He lingered for a breath longer, unspoken words rising and dying on his lips. There were a million things he wanted to say to her, but alas, he had never been particularly gifted in the ways of speech. Thankfully, Catherine noticed his hesitancy, and sent him a warm smile before making a shooing motion with her hand.

  “Go on, Cliff. We’ll see each other again before you know it. That, I do promise,” she said. He processed her words for just a moment, before giving her a grateful nod, and turning to leave.

  He did not allow himself a look back as he walked, lest he risk having his resolve give out on him, delaying his departure yet again. Though had he known then how long it would be until their next meeting, he would have went back to her in a heartbeat.

  /-0-\

  Cliff went about his preparations with the mechanical ease of someone who had been through those exact motions a hundred times before. He started by going back to his house in the Residential District, to fetch his pack and traveling gear. As the village of Borger lay only a two-hours’ ride away from the capital, he had not needed much for his previous mission. But now that he was going to Galwen… Well, that was a considerably longer journey, one that would take him close to a fortnight to complete. He would need to make camp in the wilderness at night, hunt and forage for supplies during the day, and make certain to have the appropriate clothing at hand should the weather happen to turn foul.

  He would also need his blade - his real blade - both as a contingency measure and as a tool of deterrence. Bone-Lamps were well and good for the common man, but Cliff was no common man, and such a crude invention was of no use to him when he had Rak’shul at his side. The blade was so cursed, even the Husks would not go near it unless forced, allowing him to wander the wilderness near unimpeded even on the darkest of Husknights. The only downside was that he had to lug the damn thing around, which never failed to ruin his mood in the worst of ways.

  In any case, the blade was his burden to bear, and he would continue to shoulder it with the grim-faced determination of a man possessed with the spirit of remorse and responsibility. So had it been for a great many years, and so would it remain for however long it took for his life to end.

  After retrieving the necessary equipment from his house, and donning his signature brown traveling cloak, he went by the stables near the southern gate, where he had left his steed Brom in the care of the Stable Master. The copper-skinned animal was a muscular and temperamental stallion, who had given the stablehands plenty of trouble over the years. The only one who knew how to handle him properly was Cliff himself, and that was only because the two shared more personality traits in common than he would care to admit, and so there was a mutual understanding at play, despite the fact they were of different species.

  Brom seemed largely happy to see him when they marched him out of the stables, though there was certainly an air of disapproval to the reunion as well. As if the horse was telling him that his lengthy absence was not a matter that would be forgiven without adequate snacks and portrayals of affection.

  Cliff had to run a loving hand over his neck for several minutes whilst whispering muted words of apology and acknowledgement before Brom would allow him proper access to his saddle. A childish display of petulance, yes, even for a horse, but one that was perhaps warranted, given the amount of time that had passed since Cliff’s last visit.

  The throng of people, merchants and caravans outside the city gates had grown to ludicrous proportions by the time Cliff was ready to embark upon his journey, leading Brom by the reins out past the colossal archway of stone and iron. It was looking to be yet another busy day in Carthal, and Cliff could not help but feel a tightness in his chest as he walked the opposite direction of the stream of people, away from the safety of the walls and the comfort of his companion. As much as he despised the time he had spent there after the incident, he had recently come to appreciate its sanctuary all the same with the appearance of Catherine in his life.

  There was a time in the not-too-distant past where he had wanted nothing more than to leave the city behind forever. Now, he was hoping to return as fast as he could manage. The irony of that was not lost on him.

  As soon as he was clear of the crowd, he spurred Brom into a steady gallop, racing down the cobblestone-paved road with all the focus and diligence of a properly trained rider. It did not take long for him to veer off the beaten path, however, leaving behind the grand highway of merchant carts and travelers for the untamed wilds. He knew every inch of these lands like the back of his hand, every crooked trail and hidden shortcut, and he was fully intent on utilizing that knowledge to cut back on his travel time. The sooner he could be done with this business, the better.

  He did not slow down again before the sun came to rest on the horizon, and the shadows grew long and thin around him.

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